30-Somethings
by Akindofglory
Summary: This Modern AU set is like Master of None and Broad City blended up and sprinkled with political intrigue for a tale about the slightly more than quarter life crisis. The focus is on the elven lady squad: SuranaxCullen, TabrisxAlistair, and LavellanxSolas but this will be an ensemble dramedy of DA characters! Love! Laughs! Sex! Cheese! Not in that Order.
1. There Will Be Blood

**Author's Note:**

 **I blame this on binge watching Master of None with Aziz Ansari (hiiiiiighly recommend) and re-watching Obvious Child (Jenny Slate is a Goddess). This is my first, SI MI PRIMERO, Dragon Age Fic. So, that means, take it easy on me! I've got tender soft baby writer skin for confidence! I really want to focus on the importance of platonic love, chosen family, and the plain shenanigans of trying to be an "adult" when you still feel like a wee child in the world but you have a business card.**

 **I do love feedback and even suggestions for how you think things should go or what you would want more of. For me, AU's are fun because it brings freshness to the characters and themes we love. And I'm a sucker for the modern disillusioned romcom, no shame in my game.**

 **I've also posted this on archive of our own if you would rather check it out there: /works/5235920/chapters/12076358**

 **The song here is Busta Rhymes, Gimme Some More, off the album: E.L.E. (Extinction Level Event): The Final World Front. Now that's a title.**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age, or Busta Rhyme's Discography.**

* * *

It was one of those days where after hitting the snooze button ten times, you might as well just turn the alarm clock off and have a late morning, or in Afie's current case, a late night.

The elven woman in bed was hungover, again. If she didn't live in a glorified cement hole she might be worried about disturbing her neighbors with the constant alarm siren, but then on second thought, she wouldn't have cared even if someone was lying right beside her. The amount of scotch she had consumed the night before had robbed her of both her sense of timeliness and compassion.

She had been in Kirkwall only two months, but most of her nights had involved some type of libation, whether alone or with others. It was her way of not completely focusing on the existential crisis that had overtaken her. Her apartment was now a perfect representation of said crisis. Afie's past apartments had been spotless, but now her place had glasses left on every surface and cigarette butts crammed in anything with an opening. Afie Surana had fallen far when it came to home decor; in two months she had gone from elegant rustic to minimalist squatter's den.

Her apartment was an actual studio, with no repurposed beams or power washed exposed brick. She used to have an apartment right on the river in Val Royeaux, with white floor to ceiling windows and a wrought iron balcony. This place wasn't all bad; it had a certain brutalist industrial quality that any dystopian cyberpunk fan would appreciate. It even had beautiful solarium windows along the back wall though there were no windows anywhere else. The very pretty windows were a pain when it rained, which in Kirkwall was more frequent then not, but the sound of water dripping into buckets had become soothing to her.

She cracked an eye open to see the alarm read 4:00 PM. "Fuck," she swore, scrambling out of piles of blankets to run towards the shower. She realized right before entering the bathroom that there was no time for water to hit her body. She spun on her heels to practically leap at her dirty clothes bin and grab the clothes on top of the pile. Her nose gave them a quick once over; they smelt like cigarettes and sweat that was likely not her own, it would do just fine for where she was going. In fact, she knew Varric would prefer her outfit today. He often told she was the most finely dressed and coiffed bartender he'd ever employed, and to dial it back. The "I woke up like this" unkempt and grungy look was more edgy and in line with the unofficial uniform.

She got herself in front of the bathroom sink and decided not to wash her face. Her makeup from last night had actually stayed put, cat eyes and all, so she might as well work with it. She took a hand towel with water and fixed up where it had smeared while sleeping headfirst in her pillow. She sighed in aggravation realizing her white satin pillows were now probably covered in makeup. Afie used to be able to have nice things, but two months in Kirkwall had made her a destructive force towards all things expensive and delicate.

Her foundation would cover up the tired bags under her eyes, and the hickey that had still not receded from a couple nights ago. Antivan men love to leave a mark. She didn't need any questions about her love life from her co-workers or the patrons. They were already far too curious as it was. She had the whole mysterious newcomer thing going on already since she refused to answer any questions about her past. She had dealt with far too many older elves, both at work or even just in her local grocery line, asking if they could set her up with someone. They all said things along the lines of a pretty girl like you should have a steady man. She didn't need any help finding a man, there were men aplenty in her line of work and in line for her, and to her preference there was nothing steady about them.

She felt her stomach grumble with hunger, but she knew she had no food in her stomach or in her place. The leftover building like stack of Thai food boxes on her kitchen counter spoke to her lack of groceries. She peered into the takeout boxes to see if there was even a half a roll to stuff in her mouth, but her shame was met with nada. She grabbed her ox blood leather jacket hanging on the front door and her messenger bag on the armchair. Her look had never really included wearing a leather jacket or even jeans every day, but riding a bike necessitated it. She had friends who could ride a bike in a sundress and flip flops, but she wasn't that confident in her biking abilities, especially since she couldn't shake the Orlesian habit of doing everything while smoking.

Her bike was waiting for her outside, a small pink road bike that her self-proclaimed bike expert of a friend had found for her. The hot pink had thrown her off at first, she was not a pastels type of girl, but she fell in love anyway and dubbed it Bubblegum. In a whiskey and blunt induced stupor she had let Harding, her new probably too young for her co-worker and friend, dye her hair pink to match the bike. It didn't look bad on her, it was less hot pink and more pastel, but shit wasn't she too old to have crazy colored hair?

She grabbed a spliff from the front pocket of her jacket, and took a long drag. She was probably also too old to get high before work, but it wasn't like a real high, she could get the same feeling from spinning around to hit a piñata. She had become pretty skilled at riding her bike with one hand, while the other held something smoking, whether a cigarette or a coffee cup. Afie didn't care about the time crunch, she needed to smoke this before entering the bar otherwise she would puke at the first scent of alcohol she served. It would be better for the general public if she was a wee bit sedated. She could bike just as fast with one hand anyway, that is if she skipped a couple if not every red light in her commute.

She was still getting used to biking in Kirkwall; one couldn't help but feel they were taking their life in their hands each time, but it was the best way to get around. In Val Royeaux, she had taken a taxi to work or a very clean metro, but she didn't have the funds for either currently. If she did ride a bike in Val Royeaux it was on beautiful flower lined bike paths set aside from actual traffic. Bubblegum had been a great way to discover the city and enjoy the sights, even if it involved cranky Kirkwall drivers. She sped off towards downtown; her headphones turned to full volume. She could make it right on time to the bar if there was no construction in her way.

Y'all knife ears had enough?

Gimme some more

The wind on her face cooled her aching temples and with a swallow she regretfully realized her teeth felt like they were covered in a thick film. Afie Surana knew she had truly fallen from grace at that moment. She had gone from never forgetting a monthly teeth whitening to not even prioritizing brushing them.

Y'all knife ears want the wild shit?

Gimme some more

She had entered one of the main downtown intersections when it happened. There she was feeling like she was flying down the bike lane and not hearing a damn thing with music blasting in her ears, when she hit something very bone shatteringly solid. Her eyes went black for a second; an explosion of pain met with a cool numbness swept over her. When she came back to the world of the living, she was being held up by a man as though she was a fainting woman in a silent film. She spotted Bubblegum below her, bent and broken on the ground. Her mind was back in focus and it screamed CAR DOOR.

It was a car door; some damned idiot had opened his door while she was coming down the lane! She hit it full force and now her ears were ringing and her adrenaline was shooting out of her in flames. She realized that the idiot in question was holding her up, and with all of her shock and adrenaline she yanked herself out of his very warm and strong arms.

"You fucking arsehole!" she screamed, looking at her bike in horror. "You can't just open your damn door in the lane! You could have kill someone!..Me!...You killed bubblegum!" She knew every point she made, and yes including accusing someone of murdering a bike, was completely justified. The way she saw it she had hit her head really fucking hard, so language choie be damned. She yanked her headphones off that had stayed on by some Andrastian miracle. They were still playing music.

Everybody spread love

Gimme some more

The man's face went from worry and concern to utter bewilderment and indignation. "Excuse me? Your headphones were blaring, I can hear them now! You're not even wearing a helmet! You seem to want get yourself killed biking with one hand and smoking a cigarette! And my child is in the car, please mind your mouth."

Afie held back a snarl, this guy was a real dickhead, but he actually looked familiar. That face and his voice were so recognizable to her, but in her fury, she pushed it far away. He looks like an L.L Bean model that must be why I recognize him. He's got the perfectly clean flannel shirt and leather chukka boots and the practical faux rugged jacket. Generic wanna be carpenter or lumberjack or whatever fucking good looking bastard.

"Mind my mouth? Mind my fucking mouth? You nearly kill someone and you are concerned your child may hear, oh dearest most gentle Maker, some bad language? Go take Driver's Ed after you leave your PTA meeting or wherever the hell you are going that is so important!" She held her cigarette in a clenched fist, and considered trying to salvage it because Maker did she need more of it, but chose to throw it on the ground to stamp out with her foot.

"You're littering," the man said with complete seriousness.

Afie was done. This guy was just another urban yuppie who thought the world revolved around them and their kid's organic lunches and everyone gets an award dance recitals. He also was what Afie had come to know as the HotYoungDad. He was tall, muscular, broad shouldered, and had a chiseled jaw with the perfect amount of stubble. His accent said Ferelden, and that with the full bodied blonde hair and non-ruddy but still light beige complexion, pegged him as one easily. She went to school with many privileged Ferelden men and he would have fit right in with them. It was a bit of a leap, but his dad handsomeness combined with his lack of concern for bike regulations had Afie concluding this man was the worst person in the whole entire world. He cared more about littering than killing someone. He was that guy. The guy who would send a latte back if it didn't have enough foam…that fucking guy.

After stewing in her HotYoungDad hatred, a frenzied panic took hold of her. Work! I have to get to the bar I'm going to be so late! She grabbed her bike from the ground but it was in no state to be ridden. She mournfully stared at Bubblegum like a fallen comrade before dropping it back on the ground to sprint to the nearest subway opening. She could hear the man calling her, and it almost sounded like he was saying her name, but she ran down the subway steps without turning her head.

* * *

When she got onto the subway car, she realized blood was trickling down her face. She was more banged up than she had initially realized. While a few people looked to her in concern, no one had yet to make a comment, probably because she was doing her best to look unapproachable. She wished she had been born with chronic bitch face, but she been cursed with the opposite, a chronic cute face. She had these damn dimples and big brown eyes that just made her face scream I'm a harmless little woodland critter, come talk to me! If there was something to get used to in Kirkwall it was the friendliness of strangers. She was more used to an urban populace that would walk over or even step on a dying man if he was in their path. In terms of social faux paws, it was worse to be late to the Opera than to have blood on your shoes.

She felt a scream worthy pain in her left arm. Damn it! I have to go to the hospital. She got out her phone and texted Varric, taking a selfie to go with her message. She was happy, because she possessed a sick sense of humor, that the photo showed a clear blood trail from her forehead down to her chin.

A: Yup, it happened, got into my first bike accident. A very HotEvilDad almost killed me opening his door in the bike lane. Can I go to the hospital, please boss?

The "please" was a joke, but Varric's message came back immediately.

V: Holy shit what a maniac! Go to the hospital and please tell me you got the asshole's license plate? Do you want to come here first and get a ride?

She texted him back that sadly she hadn't gotten down the plate. She did remember his car though, it was a silver mini-van. She let Varric know that she would get there fine by subway, He started texting her all sorts of messages about coming over and calling friends who would find the creep…it was too much to handle and she ignored them. After several stops she got off and started the ften minute walk down the block to Kirkwall Medical. She texted while she walked, which she knew was stupid considering what multitasking while traveling had just gotten her into.

A: Tabris, my Taby-cakes, I am going into Kirkwall Medical, free for dinner in two hours?

T: I'm actually not there today, but why you are at one of my places of work and not say your place of work…where you should be working. I was going to visit you later for a free drink or three.

A: Don't be too alarmed but I hit a car or it hit me either way I'm banged up a bit.

T:…

A: People generally don't like blood and asphalt in their beverages, no matter how cute I might be.

T: WHAT?

Her new like in Kirkwall had its up and downs but now it had finally drawn blood.

* * *

Thoughts?

And yes, I did actually take the slur knife ears in this story and use it as a sort of reclaimed slur. Yup. Where fantasy and my work as a critical race scholar come together to be really corny.

Fun Fact: Bubblegum is actually a cameo, from my bike, that has never been destroyed by poor bike lane etiquette. It is actually a bike specifically for petite women, it's not only short height wise but length wise and with the handlebars (closer together then regular bikes). I also have had this happen to friends riding in urban areas. Watch out folks!


	2. Red Light

He would, even years after this when everything was mostly forgiven, think he was not entirely in the wrong. He would never ever, emphasis on never, say that out loud.

She had come out of nowhere; there was a red light before his parked car!, he should have been looking, but biker's needed to follow the rules of the road as well! Why wasn't she following proper biking safety? She had no helmet. She had headphones on that were blaring. She was smoking a cigarette while riding a bike, with one hand on the handlebars! Her cigarette wasn't even just a cigarette; he had definitely smelled what she mixed in. It was not entirely his fault she even admitted it!

When she slammed into his door he immediately held her up and off the bike. He felt a rush of panic and guilt, but years of being in life and death situations kept him calm. His daughter was asleep in the backseat, and somehow stayed that way. The girl really could sleep through anything. He asked the young, and now he could see elven woman if she was OK, but the shock had stunned her for a second. He looked her over, she had some cuts on her face, and her body would definitely be bruised up, but she was standing fine now. He was going to bring her to the hospital; she would need to be checked out. He was just thinking of how he was going to apologize and obviously fit the hospital bill and the cost of fixing her bike, when he realized he recognized her.

Her face was so familiar, even if the pink hair was not, and he was trying to place it when she came out of her shock like water on a hot pan. She pushed him away and started laying into him with barrage of insults and curses. She was somewhat right, but she certainly didn't need to speak that way and she was in the wrong too. He tried explaining to her how she was also at fault, and to keep her language clean for his child's sake. He noticed her leather jacket, septum piercing, and those two things with the pink hair led him to believe she was just another hipster who thought they could bike like a lunatic and then blame cars for accidents. _She probably doesn't wear a helmet to because, Maker forbid, you not look stylish when traveling with high speed cars._

The woman really didn't like his comment about the bad language, and she reacted by angrily throwing her cigarette on the ground to stomp on. He should have let it go and not said anything, it was pure reaction and he didn't even recognize himself reprimanding her for it. When had he turned into…that guy.

He tried to get a word in after that to apologize, but she started to just sprint away from him. _Where the hell is she going? Is she on drugs? I thought I smelled something on that cigarette…_ It dawned on him then, as she ran away without a glance back, that Maker's Breathe, that was Afie Surana.

 _Afie Surana._

 _Afie FUCKING Surana._

He had just hit Afie Surana, with his car, or she hit his car with her bike…it didn't fucking matter it was Afie Surana! It all came back to him then, his years at Kinlock School. Afie was…she was a big deal back then and from what he heard she still was in Val Royeaux. She was the Captain and President of too many sports and clubs. She practically ran the library and could silence any giggling underclassmen with one glance. She was in the top five of her graduating class. She was on the Royal Court during the Spring Gala for each year she was in school. She won _Most Likely to Succeed_ and the unofficial superlative, because it was an Andrastian school, of _Desert Island Dream Date_. She was a year below him, but he still knew all that about her…because he had possessed the biggest most obvious crush on her from the moment she offered him her piece of lasagna after getting the last one. The memory started to come back to him.

* * *

 _They're both in line in the cafeteria and it's his second week at Kinlock, the day wasn't going so well. He transferred there for an extra year of preparatory school as part of a scholarship program for rural Ferelden kids. He's glad for the opportunity, but as one could imagine, it's hard to start at an elite school so late when most of the other students have been attending since age ten. He's way behind academically, and socially isn't faring much better._

 _He's actually feeling a little bit happier that day because lasagna is on menu. He loves lasagna; it's a staple of his family's dinners back home. He needs the comfort of obscene amounts of cheese and ground meat._

 _He senses the universe wants him to be unhappy when the lunch worker announces that they are all out for the day. He's the only person left in line. He can't help it; he actually bows his head in misery. That's when he feels the tap on his shoulder. He looks up to see a girl wearing a high bun and tartan headband that matches the school uniform skirt. She has a restless but not unkind look on her face. He doesn't notice she is elven first, that is maybe the fourth thing, he first notices the lasagna she's holding up._

 _"Hey," she says plainly when he looks at her. He again notices the lasagna and with the day he's having, half expects her to throw it at his face._

 _"Would you want to take this off my hands? I shouldn't be eating it really. I just have to fit into my dress for the royal court." She speaks with an obviously fake dramatic whine in her voice. She twirls her fingers in the air during the last part._

 _"I can't…" he begins to stutter out, but she places it on his plate anyway._

 _She raises her eyebrows at him, with eyes full of pity and amusement. "You're new right? Trust me new kid, here at Kinlock, accept non-self-serving gifts of kindness when given. For scholarship kids like us, they are few and far between."_

 _She smiles slightly and turns around to start walking back towards a table of friends. He cringes remembering this part._

 _"My name's Cullen," he practically yells at her after she's almost ten feet away. He had really tried to say that when she was still standing next to him._

 _"Woah," she says, accompanied by a chuckle and her hands put up in mock defense. "No need to yell. It's nice to meet you, Cullen. I'm Afie. Enjoy that lasagna."_

* * *

And on this day, he had almost killed his lasagna savior.

By the time he realized it was her it was too late. She had left the bike on the side of the damned road and was about to enter the subway opening.

He started to yell her name, "Afie! Afie!"

This was ridiculous after remembering their first meeting, again he had the delayed response with her!

She didn't even turn around, was it really her? What in the hell was Afie Surana doing in Kirkwall? Wasn't she marrying an Orlesian politician? And how with all of the cars in this damn city did she manage to hit or get hit by his?

"Daddy, what's wrong? Is the lady Ok?"

His attention came back to the present. Violet had woken up, and for what part he didn't know. He hoped she hadn't seen him yelling. It was not a good example to set and he regretted his outburst now. Afie, or whoever it was, was in shock and pain when she spoke while he had no such excuse. He was having a stressful day, but it seemed everyone was these days.

He got back into the car and put on his seatbelt. "I think so honey, but we will find out, OK?"

"She seemed mad and you were mad. She was mean, but you were mean."

"Yes, I was," he said, turning his head towards her in the backseat. "I will apologize to her that's not how we should talk to people."

"She did swear though, and she was smoking, isn't smoking bad?"

"She did swear, but she was scared. And yes, smoking is bad for you, but it does not make you a bad person to smoke. I am sure she's a good person."

Was he sure? He hadn't seen Afie since Kinlock. He had no idea what she was like, but apparently she now was into unnatural hair color and facial piercings. And recreational drug use. That said nothing about her moral character, but it was not the Afie Suruna he remembered.

He got back in the car and knew the best thing to do would be to visit nearby hospitals. He might have called the police station before, but in his new profession, knew many people did not want the police in their affairs and often with legitimate cause. He not only had to apologize, but take of her of any expenses. He would have never thought Afie for someone who would ride a bike with no regard to traffic laws. She had been a Prefect, and from what he remembered, one of the stricter ones. Now she was smoking spliffs while biking through traffic in Kirkwall?

He threw her bike into the backseat of his min-can. He had no idea whether it could be salvaged, but from how she almost cried over it he figured it at least had sentimental value.

Afie Surana, it had to be her, and Andraste's fucking ass, he almost killed her.

* * *

One day all bicyclists, car drivers, and even pedestrians will be at peace with one another. Because infrastructure for bikes and walking will have improved in most major cities, maybe.


End file.
